Abandon
by edka88
Summary: In only a few hours future was to begin. Follow-up to Before.


Hello dear readers! It's been a while since I last posted anything but I hope this nice long story will make up for the wait. I would like to thank the help of my dear friend and editor, russomaha, without whose encouragement I couldn't have finished this story at all. Thank you again, Masha!:)

And a huge thanks for all those lovely people who is still here reading.

* * *

A thick droplet of water began its way on the mirror, absorbing vapor as it rolled down to the mirror's bottom edge.

Taking the corner of her towel, Christine cleared a spot in the center of the glass, catching a glimpse of herself for the first time in five days.

 _Well._

 _He_ truly _was_ a gentleman.

Even after a _very_ thorough bath her face still bore the sobering signs of five days of neglect: lack of sleep had drawn indistinct circles around her eyes, almost impossible to detect but definitely visible to someone who knew the real look of it, and the lack of food only enhanced the effect as her cheeks seemed now unnaturally hollow. Whether days of anguish were indeed edged into every line of her face or the visage was conjured up by her tired mind she couldn't decide. Whichever was the case, those deep lines under her eyes were positively there and she could only hope that a few nights of proper sleep would wipe them away.

Unbidden, color rose in her cheeks and she hastily turned away from her reflection.

Tonight's good sleep would certainly come only after something a lot more pleasurable, and she caught herself being almost embarrassed when a long shudder of excitement ran through her body at the thought of it. When she had told him she had wanted him she had been telling the truth, but still, it was... strange. Never before did she let anyone so close to her, and while it was truly thrilling that it would happen, in the end, with _him_ , it was, in a way, also frightening. Would she do it... right? Would he find it to be as he expected it? And _she_? She didn't want to disappoint him for he had been waiting for so long but at the same time she dreaded being disappointed herself.

Reaching out she took the brush from the brink of the basin and began to untangle her rather unkempt curls.

It was quite unlikely, though, for that to happen. He hadn't even expected her to concede to marital intimacy, and she had no doubt that he had meant every word. However, it was impossible not to notice how his posture changed upon learning that she very much wanted to indulge in said intimacy. It was… touching… somehow, that he placed her comfort before his own, however long he had been yearning for being with her and however he would have been 'entitled' to it by her consent to marry him. Had he not said anything on the matter she wouldn't have expected him to take it for granted, either, but that he had deemed it so important as to address his concern was truly moving.

And heartbreaking, too, since he clearly didn't think she would ever want to feel him so close to her.

She wondered how much everything that had happened in these last few months added to his insecurities... Considering that he had never presented himself to her up until Raoul had shown up the amount of his self-doubt must have been staggering even then – and what had happened ever since…

She winced when the brush got caught in a stubborn knot.

Despite what he thought, he _was_ loveable, though.

And tonight she would make sure that he _felt_ loved, too.

Twisting her hair around her fingers she secured it in a simple bun; who knew how long it would take until they left for the ceremony and there was no use in creating any intricate hairdo before then. She definitely could have used a dress while staying in the house but as she had nothing else but her wedding gown she settled on another one of his shirts that she had requested of him earlier, and which she now draped over her shoulders. After buttoning it up she finally left the now overly warm and steamy bathroom.

Stepping out into her room she was greeted by a mouthwatering smell of food, though after five days it was impossible to tell what kind of food it was exactly, except that she wanted to consume all of it as soon as was humanly possible. Not surprisingly she found him in the kitchen (though the very fact that he had a kitchen was somewhat inconceivable): he was standing in front of the stove, a bowl of something in his left hand, and holding a fork in his right. As she walked closer she noticed slices of already fried, golden bread on the plate next to the stove.

She came to a halt only a couple of feet on his right and his whole body tensed – he wasn't wearing the mask, she noted a moment later. A quick glance a little upward confirmed that the wig was missing, too, and his still damp hair was swept back neatly – which was probably the reason why he refrained from donning his usual disguises.

Or... maybe... he didn't deem it necessary to wear them around her anymore…?

Either way, it was impossible to miss the swirling uneasiness around him and she didn't want to add to it by mentioning the lack of his usual garments.

"There was nothing else left," he told her, and when she looked up she saw he'd been watching her watching their breakfast – or rather lunch – on the plate.

"Oh, it's fine. I like it." His eyes lingered on her a moment longer, then with the softest nod he went back to his earlier task and turned the last slice of bread in the pan in front of him. The sizzle sounded unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent kitchen. "Is there anything I can help you with?" she asked uncertainly.

"It's almost done," he told her softly, then a moment later he added, "You can set the table, if you wish."

At her question he told her where she was to find plates and silverware, and no sooner had she finished than he turned down the stove and joined her at the table. By the time he reached the table she was already seated, but instead of sitting down himself he cast a furtive glance towards the door before noting the plate she had set for him, and at last he lowered himself with a cautious tardiness opposite of her. A moment later she caught him stealing a glance at her, and as much she tried to convince herself otherwise it seemed that there was an anxious shadow settled over his features. When she offered a tentative smile, though, he returned it with a tight, hesitant one of his own.

Her stomach gave a strange twist.

Had something happened since they had parted or was it just her imagination, still running rampant after days of contemplation and sorrow?

"It has a delicious scent," she told him to break the descending silence that was becoming more and more oppressive by the moment.

"Go ahead, then," he prompted her and she complied with a grateful haste.

Their breakfast was just as delicious as its scent and she quickly devoured her first slice of bread. She was already halfway through her second when it occurred to her to look up from her plate – his eyes were downcast while his fingers tore little pieces from his slice of bread. She noted with a pang in her heart that all those little pieces added up into a perfect whole.

"You're not eating," she remarked softly.

He seemed to stiffen a little at her words, then pushing aside a small piece he finally looked up at her but immediately averted his eyes again. "I'm not hungry."

 _After five days._

"Would you rather eat on your own?" she asked tentatively.

"No!" His hasty reply sounded unnaturally loud, even if his voice was just as soft as before. "No. You would have to see it at some point, anyway," he said more calmly, pushing aside another small piece of bread before reluctantly bringing it to his lips. As resigned as he tried to appear she still couldn't miss the strange trepidation in his movements as he finally began to eat, so she quickly averted her eyes to give him some kind of privacy; and since she couldn't think of anything comforting to say regarding the meaning of his words they finished eating in a somewhat embarrassed silence.

"Would you like some more?" he asked her when both of their plates were empty.

"No, thank you. It was indeed heavenly."

He reached to take her plate. "Don't flatter me," he said, but his lips curved into the smallest smile.

"You know that I'm not. I'm not very good at it."

He paused for the shortest time in his movements, and she, too, basked for a moment in the pleasant warmth that was caused by the suddenly returning memory of their long conversations and the countless evenings they had spent in each other's company before the madness of the last few months had started. It was almost startling to remember that the person she got to know so well during all those years was now standing right in front of her; and though he was not exactly like she had gotten to know him through the years that person was still inside him – but he was so much more than that distant Angel he had pretended to be.

"I'll take care of this and you can... get dressed," he offered, taking away the dishes.

"Can I help? With anything?"

He shook his head briefly. "No. I'll take care of everything."

His voice was even and low and he appeared to be calm, too, and yet tension around them became more and more tangible, filling the room with unnaturally thick air and unsettling apprehension.

A shiver ran down on her spine despite the pleasant temperature of the kitchen.

 _Later._

She would ask him what had happened later.

"It won't take long," she promised, stepping closer to take his hand briefly. The warmth that spread from his touch seemed to seep into her skin before traveling up on her arm and finally settling in a pleasant glow around her heart.

"Good," he nodded, brushing his thumb across the back of her hand.

However she wished for it, though, he made no movement to kiss her.

\- o -

Getting dressed didn't take longer than on any other day – except that now there was no-one to help her with the laces on the back. _No matter._ It would be taken care of later. Then came her hair, and since she decided to let it down she was ready in less than half an hour.

Not as if haste would make any difference, though: it was unlikely that any kind of office to marry the two of them would be open, and it was just as improbable to find a shop where she could purchase a veil on Sunday. For the office he might have a solution – and considering his promise of taking care of everything he probably already did – but for the veil…

 _Unless… the old lady, next to the confectionery behind the opera house…_

Perhaps she could be persuaded to help out a young couple.

One last look at her reflection convinced her that she was now as presentable as she could be, considering; then she left the bathroom. The parlor was empty and a quick glance around the kitchen confirmed that he was not there, either, but the door to his room was slightly ajar and she stopped right in front of it.

Her hand hovered above the handle for a long moment before it lifted just a little higher to rap on the frame lightly, and at his reply, she pushed the door open.

He was standing with his back to her as she stepped into the room but the difference in his appearance was striking even so: once more he was the composed, distinguished gentleman, dressed in his usual impeccable attire – save his jacket that lay spread out on his bed. The very air seemed to have changed around him, and it appeared as if his posture was now straighter and more... dignified... somehow...

A moment later he turned around – he was wearing all of his regular disguises as well.

She didn't really have time to dwell on that, though, because as soon as his eyes fell on her only partially covered shoulders he dropped his gaze to the carpet.

"I cannot lace up the back without ruffling the material," she explained, heat slowly creeping to her cheeks. "Would you...?"

"Of course," he agreed, walking up to her. His eyes flitted around her form without really looking at her and it was nearly a relief when she could turn her back to him so that he could take the laces. How utterly absurd it was: in a few hours he would be taking the dress off of her yet now she couldn't wait to be properly covered.

The fingers on her back skimmed her skin before retreating immediately, then finally the material was stretched as it was supposed to be as he found the ends of the laces. The soft swish of fabric was accompanied by the occasional soft brushes of his fingers on her back.

Silence was broken only a long minute later.

"Christine, I... I'm afraid there would be just the two of us. No guests," he said, his movements faltering a little with his words.

"Yes, I thought so," she replied, careful to keep her voice even.

For another while it was only the rustle of fabric that could be heard in the room. "Are you not disappointed?" he asked her at last.

"I don't know. I think I'm not." The ministrations behind her back paused, but he didn't let go of the laces. "Things are so unlike how I imagined my wedding as a child," she continued.

"You always wanted to have a grand wedding," he said, and though his tone was even and guarded she could still hear the regret in it.

"Yes, but I guess every girl wants the same."

"And now? Would you still like it?"

"Having a great wedding is not nearly as important now as the person whom I will marry."

The cord holding her dress sagged, but before the dress could, too, he resumed his work. "And your friend?" he asked.

She let out a soft sigh in the hope of easing the regret somewhat. "Meg would have loved to be there. But..." _Well._ There really seemed to be no way how it could have happened in any other manner. "It would have been a bit awkward, though. Madame Giry wasn't really approving of my choice."

He finished with the laces while she spoke so she turned around: his eyes were intent on hers as he asked, "Does it not upset you?"

"No. I would have loved if she agreed but it is I who chooses my future husband." Her lips pulled into a small smile and his hand lifted in turn; then only after the briefest indecision it came to rest in a light touch on her face. "I think she'll be fine with it. Eventually."

"Yes," he breathed, brushing his thumb across her face while his eyes slowly slid to her lips. His gaze returned to hers only a moment later and he seemed to be leaning closer, too; and when his warm breath swept across her nose and lips a pleasant tingle started somewhere in her stomach...

In the next moment cool air brushed against her heated cheeks and he was gone.

Her throat was closing up and she had to swallow.

"Is there anything you need before the ceremony?" As distracted as she was it still didn't elude her attention how uneven his voice sounded. _Why don't you...?_

"A veil would be nice," she replied, trying to breathe through the lump in her throat.

"You'll have it on the way," he agreed immediately, walking towards his jacket on the bed. It was just a step from her, though, and she reached back to hand it to him.

She almost dropped it in surprise when she saw what it had covered so far.

"What is this?" she asked him, holding out his coat for him but her eyes remained riveted to the neat stack of banknotes lying on the bed. Never before in her life had she seen so many hundred-franc-notes spread out in front of her – it must have added up to several thousand Francs.

"Incentive," came his reply, and she looked up from it just in time to witness the elegant movement as he draped the jacket over his shoulders. "For the short notice, for any possible mistakes I might have made with the papers, for the lack of witnesses and," he made a vague gesture towards his face, "for this."

Her stomach knotted from an unnamed emotion and she had to look away from him.

He was willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money just so he wouldn't be forced to part with the mask on his long awaited wedding day.

 _In front of hundreds of people..._

Suddenly it seemed there was not nearly enough air in the room.

"I'm sorry," she choked, staggering back a few feet. "I was uncaring and…" She swallowed with difficulty, taking another step back. "…it was cruel of me to take it off in front of all of them." In the end, she managed to catch herself on the end of the bed; by that time, though, his hand was already on her forearm, securing her as he stepped closer.

"Christine, stop it. I've committed more than enough to warrant it."

"But…"

"Just stop." He closed his eyes briefly. "Please."

The heavy weight around her stomach didn't ease the slightest but she decided not to press the issue any further. It might have been no more than her imagination but it seemed that a long shiver had ran through him when he closed his eyes… the memory of those moments, perhaps…?

Tightness returned to her throat and her eyes began to sting.

 _Not now._

Swallowing back the tears she focused on his eyes, forcing her breathing to even out.

 _Please._

She hardly ever heard him using that word.

In the end, she managed to nod faintly, her eyes still riveted to his pleading ones. "All right."

He echoed the small movement and his fingers slid from her arm; she stepped back to lift the pile of papers beside the notes in a hopeful attempt to steer both of their thoughts away from that horrid, gruesome night. The papers were all official documents required for the marriage – to both of their names.

"Nilsson?" She tried his name again in her mind: for so long he had no name at all. "Is that your real name?"

"No; I was born in France, as far as I can remember. I… merely needed a name for the ceremony and this sounded respectable enough – should the need arise."

He cast an uncertain glance at her at that and she nodded with some trepidation. They had agreed previously that she would keep her maiden name, mainly because it might serve as an advantage when she would return to the stage: her name was already well-known. Having to take _his_ name would be somewhat of a last resort: only in case the rumors of her supposed marriage to the Phantom got too pressing.

 _For me…_

"I took the liberty to _provide_ your papers as well." She snapped out of her dwelling at his voice and when she looked at him she was faced with his almost apologetic expression.

"It's fine. I don't even remember where they are," she said, taking a closer look at her birth certificate: it seemed as genuine as any official paper could be. Perhaps she should have been concerned about his most excellent talent in forging the documents but… was there even any point in it when she _did_ possess a birth certificate?

Though they most certainly _did not_ have any kind of consent of a guardian. And what was worse, he was probably the most wanted criminal in the city by now. If he ever was found surely she, as his wife, would not escape being called to account, either.

But was she not already his accomplice?

She tried to swallow the lump from her throat.

It was… frightening, having to pretend in front of the authorities – but not as much as never seeing him again would be.

She folded the documents with care and handed them back to him. "Is there anything else we'll need?"

Taking the papers from her he tucked them away in his coat. "This is all. The license will be issued at the office." There was an unfamiliar edge to his voice as he spoke and it appeared that he was trying to keep his eyes away from hers. He even seemed to tense when she stepped closer to him, but when her fingers curled around his hand he returned her hold with a relieved slump of his shoulders. She had no doubts that the small movement had not been meant for her eyes.

Her stomach gave a nervous flutter and she glanced up at his face but it was still as well-guarded as minutes ago.

"Let us leave, then," she suggested, and he followed her out of the room to get dressed for the winter cold.

\- o -

It was already dark outside when they emerged from the opera house, but it was that strange kind of semi-darkness that was so peculiar to winter: the thick layer of snow that covered the streets reflected the light from the several street lamps, coating everything with a grayish, smooth, cloud-like light. It was an eerie sight though not at all unwelcome.

Seeing the city as she saw it now made her wonder, though, how she had braved the night yesterday: several people were loitering around without any obvious purpose or destination, and – she could admit it now – most of them were exactly those kinds of people whom she would dread to encounter even by daylight.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Now she was safe, though. The most formidable of them was _her_ companion – but she was relatively certain that the fact shouldn't have filled her with such calmness as it did.

Holding her hand he led her to the few shadows that remained, keeping her close to him as they crossed the main road to disappear in the narrow street on the other side of it. If he was worried at all by the presence of those unsettling ruffians it didn't show, and the warmth that she could feel even through the layers of their gloves was enough to calm her nerves as well.

Until she caught sight of a man in a uniform, walking away only a few meters from them.

A gendarme.

Air hitched in her throat from surprise and horror, and she didn't realize she had yanked her hand from his hold until both of them appeared on her heaving chest.

Authorities were still looking for him.

She let out a slow, controlled breath.

 _Of course they are still looking for him._ Only five days had passed since then.

Despite her repeated efforts the rapid rise and fall of her chest slowed down only the slightest bit and she stood unmoving, plastered against the wall.

 _Wanted._

No doubt his fate was already decided in case he was found, and should she be found with him…

A long tremor ran down her legs and her knees could just barely hold her up.

Should she be found with him the true nature of her relationship with him would gain full certainty, effectively making her his accomplice. And it made little to no difference in when it came to judgment.

"Are you all right?"

His voice didn't even reach the level of a whisper still she heard it clear in her ear. When she looked up she only saw his glowing eyes, searching her face."That was a..." The rest of her sentence was lost in a gasp.

"Yes."

"If there's one here there must me dozens of them. All looking for you."

"Indeed," he agreed simply. "They always do."

"But..."

"They will not find us," he told her, and though the words were – no doubt – meant for comfort there was something else in it, too; resignation, or sadness, perhaps...?

The clank of heels on the cobblestones faded steadily until finally it blended into the various noises of the night, and it was a bit easier to breathe after the sound had vanished completely. Her heartbeat seemed to have slowed as well, and after a few moments she finally managed to push away from the wall she had been leaning against so far. The weight of his gaze was still resting on her but when she looked up to his face his eyes turned to examine their surroundings.

"Can we leave now?" She asked him after an uncomfortably long silence. "Or is there any other of them around here?"

"No. Let's go," he said but continued to stand just as motionless.

After a moment it became obvious that he was not going to take her hand again so she reached out to take his, and as soon as she did his fingers curled around hers in a convulsive grasp.

It didn't take long to reach the small shop – or rather the back of it where the shopkeeper lived, since the shop was closed for the weekend. The old lady was at first rather perplexed at her unusual request – and the unusual timing – but once Christine explained the urgency of the matter she turned out to be quite considerate. In less than five minutes the whole affair was over, and Christine stepped out to the streets with the chosen veil in hand.

She found him pacing around the corner.

"You have it?" he asked her as she approached him, turning his track towards her.

"I do." She lifted the small bag containing the accessory. "I take it that I'll have some time to put it on beforehand."

"I think so." His eyes never left her hands as she secured the small bag around her wrist, then also followed the movement with which she reached out to take his hand once more.

The rest of their route passed in silence. His steps were careful and even but extremely hurried, and his hand that held hers curled and uncurled around her fingers in every passing moment. It was in front of a medium-sized, modest yet stylish building they stopped at last, but instead of going to the front door he led her around the house. Her heart jumped to her throat when he entered the building without announcing their presence – the room they stepped into was empty, though.

No servants or anyone else.

She wondered briefly if it was their day off – and also if Erik had been here before, considering how effortlessly he navigated through the different rooms and corridors, all of them devoid of any people's presence.

At last they reached a room just as unlit as all of them; however, there was a narrow strip of light on its floor just across the two of them. When her sight slid a little upwards she could make out the contour of the door as well.

A moment later light flooded her eyes as Erik opened the door.

"What in the name of…" began an angry voice from inside the room but then the person it belonged to stopped mid-sentence; she could only assume it might have been because of the mask.

Her eyes were still trying to process the sudden change in light when she heard _him_ as if from a distance. "You have to perform a wedding ceremony before retiring for the night, I'm afraid."

Blinking around, she finally spotted an elderly gentleman standing behind a desk, his face completely pale, and it appeared that his posture was wavering slightly. "How did you come in here?"

"The back rooms were empty."

The man said nothing at that but meanwhile his eyes left _him_ and were now taking in her form from head to toes, noting the white of her dress peeking out from under her dark cape. His shoulders sagged with what appeared to be a somewhat relieved sigh.

"Monsieur, it is Sunday evening. And my home! You can marry your beloved after registering in the office _in the regular hours_."

The hold on her hand tightened just the slightest bit.

"It cannot wait until regular hours, I fear."

"Well, it has to..."

The man wanted to continue – but arguing about appointments would get them nowhere. "Please, Monsieur, we are in quite a hurry," she cut in.

"Mademoiselle, it is rather unusual to receive anyone at this late hour – especially in this most unacceptable manner," said the man, glancing in the direction they had come from and she tried to ward off heat rushing to her cheeks.

"It is rather urgent," she insisted feebly.

The man's eyes lingered on her only for a heartbeat longer before returning to the mask, then he took another hesitant step towards the door.

"In that case I can perform it tomorrow." The official cast a brief glance at the door beside him. "Paperwork…the paperwork needs to be taken care of beforehand."

"Everything you need is already here," said her fiancé, letting go of her hand to reach into his pocket. Taking a couple of steps forward _he_ held out the stack of papers while the clerk took a half-step back, his eyes dropping the papers before returning to _his_ face. He didn't reach for the documents for another long moment, and even then it was with a clearly visible waver in his hand.

When finally he unfolded the documents his face drained of color completely and he had to lean against the wall. She had already suspected that the banknotes added up to an exorbitant sum but up until now it never occurred to her just how exorbitant that sum was.

"There is a maid in the other room. Perhaps…" The clerk made a feeble gesture with his hand towards her. "Perhaps the mademoiselle could… freshen up, while we discuss the details."

"She stays here," _he_ snapped before she could express any kind of opinion of her own and a shiver ran down her spine.

She hadn't heard that tone since...

Only a moment later, though, _he_ turned back to her, his eyes not quite reaching her face. It seemed as if the corner of his lips twitched, too. "Unless you'd rather leave," he added in an uneven whisper and she swallowed, a lump beginning to form in her throat.

"I won't even step out of this room if you want me to stay," she told him, closing the distance between them.

"No! No." The deep exhale he let out brushed her face in one, long stroke. "You're not my prisoner." The last word was accompanied by a shiver and he even closed his eyes briefly. "Do as you wish," he breathed.

Once more, his body was shaken by a long shudder, and when she reached for his hand she couldn't _not_ notice how his hand fluttered in her grasp.

"I'll put on the veil," she told him, the words barely able to pass her throat. "It won't take longer than a few minutes," she promised, leaning up to cup the masked side of his face. She almost took a step back in surprise when he leaned down to brush his lips against hers.

His eyes were intent on her face after they had pulled apart, and she felt the weight of his gaze on her back even as she passed the clerk and finally left the room.

There was, indeed, a maid in the other room, and after a few words of explanation the maid showed her to a mirror and also offered her help in pinning up the veil. It was not a complicated device, though, so thanking her Christine kindly refused her offer, and after the maid left she set out to secure it in her hair.

The structure, as stunning as it looked, was relatively simple: the main piece resembled a headband, which she attached right away, before she unearthed the remaining contents of her little bag. Collecting a couple of hairpins she then began to fasten the fabric on her head.

Somewhere behind her a clock was ticking away every second.

While she was standing in front of the mirror of the house whose owner's name she didn't even know.

Perhaps she shouldn't have sent the maid away, after all. She was preparing for her wedding all on her own in a house she visited for the first time, putting on a piece of clothing that she had only worn once, and even then it was no longer than for a minute.

Taking another pin she threaded it across a loop before fixing it in her hair, then examined the result in her reflection.

 _Good._

Most probably he would like it, too.

Picking another pin she reached up once more, her lips tingling as the memory of his gentle kiss returned.

So... sudden. And so... daring – and yet so timid... Completely at odds with the reserved manners he showed since they had left the opera house.

Letting out a deep sigh she reached for another pin, the weight around her stomach more prominent than only minutes before.

She should have asked him what happened when it had first occurred to her that something was amiss.

Quickly securing the last two pins into her hair she smoothed the delicate fabric over her hair, shed her coat, then hurried through the two small rooms she had come from. It was only when her fingers were already curled around the handle that she heard the raised voices coming from the room. Air hitched in her lungs for a moment but straightening her posture she pushed the door open and stepped in.

"...today, if that's what you wish, but I surely cannot conduct a marriage without any witnesses!"

Even without seeing his face she knew from his answer that her soon-to-be husband was furious, and, quite honestly, it was rather impressive how the definitely terrified clerk had the courage to stand up to him. The clerk did relent, though, at her fiancé's reply – but perhaps there might have been some more money involved in that, too.

Meanwhile she walked up to them and as she approached _him_ she now could make out that although his voice was as firm and commanding as ever, his arm that was pressed against his side was jarred by barely visible tremors in every few moment. Air caught in her throat and she had to take a deep breath to ease the pressure in her chest somewhat.

"I'm here," she addressed him, resting one hand lightly on his forearm.

His mouth opened in reply but no sound came out; his gaze lingered on her freshly done veil for several heartbeats before it slowly slid from her head to take in her whole attire as if for the first time.

It had happened before. But it was so unlike how it had been days ago.

Had she not known better she would have said that in that moment it was only the two of them present in the room.

There was no disturbing past – nor uncertain future.

Just _them_.

Even the various noises of the unfamiliar house seemed to have disappeared from around them.

They stood there in silence for an unknown amount of time before at some unspoken accord they stepped towards each other, meeting in the middle only inches from the other. Her breathing gave up its even rhythm – if he was breathing at all, she couldn't tell.

Then all of a sudden silence was broken by the voice of the clerk. "Well... if the mademoiselle is here, then... I suggest we start the ceremony."

At the sharp intrusion they stepped apart and her eyes turned towards the clerk: he pulled out a drawer and took out a large book of some sort which he placed on top of the desk before straightening his tie and buttoning up his coat. "Monsieur, would you take off that mask now?"

Her heart skipped a beat at the request and from the corner of her eyes she saw how _his_ whole body tensed upon hearing those words.

"No."

Despite the abrupt and curt reply, the clerk seemed to be inexorable. "Monsieur, I have accepted many of your demands, but it is against the law _and_ my moral judgment as well to bind you to this mademoiselle without showing your true identity."

"The mask stays where it is," he said through clenched teeth.

The man across the desk came to his full height, his arms lowering in indignation. "I will not conduct a wedding without knowing that you're not trying to deceive this young woman into some inexcusable vice. How should I know if she had ever seen your face at all?"

Heart beating in her throat, she stepped in. "I have," she stated firmly. "There is no need for you to do so as well."

The man let out a deep, clearly annoyed sigh. "Very well, then." Glancing at the two of them he continued, "Perhaps you would want to exchange your rings." If there had been indeed irony embedded into the words, she didn't care anymore.

Her fiancé's fingers brushed against hers as they exchanged their rings, then his hand captured hers, not letting go of it even as the clerk began to speak.

\- o -

The hurry with which they arrived was nothing compared to the rush he set after leaving the house at last.

It was difficult to recall what exactly had happened since they had been pronounced husband and wife: she remembered the timid press of his palm on her waist as he leaned down to her; the jolt in her stomach as her eyes met his for the first time after the kiss; the cordial farewell of the clerk as the two of them parted with him only a few minutes later…

Then the cold bite of frost on her face as they stepped out into the night once more – which had been only two breaths before, actually.

She gathered her skirts in her right hand and managed to avoid tripping on them as she skipped on a step: it was almost impossible to keep up with the speed he dashed forward with. What was more unsettling, though, that he hadn't spoken to her ever since the ceremony had ended. Or rather since she had left for a few minutes beforehand.

Her stomach knotted with nerves.

There was no sign that he intended to stop any time soon.

Finally rounding the corner he dove into one of the dark alleys and came to an abrupt halt, and the next thing she knew she was surrounded by his arms and body in an embrace that almost knocked the remaining breath out of her.

Then nothing.

Initial bewilderment now gone she lifted her arms to fold around his tense frame, and that was when she felt the first tremor running through him. Almost imperceptible, but it was definitely there.

Next came a long, deep, perfectly even sigh.

Followed by a similarly controlled inhale…

…that ended in a sob.

The fingers on her back curled into her coat as he pulled her closer, the shivers that were running through him now jolting her body as well.

Whatever overwhelmed him so thoroughly must have been building up for a long time – and yet he had been so poised and commanding during the whole night, authoritative even…

Her eyes began to sting.

 _What else did you not tell me?_

His ragged breaths ruffled the hair behind her ear, and she held onto him tighter when finally her tears began to fall as well.

"You didn't run," he gasped, pulling her closer as air left his lungs with an uneven sob.

"Of course not," she replied between breaths. Her stomach trembled with his as his body shuddered from emotions.

"You could have. I wouldn't have pursued you…"

"I know," she replied, burying her face in his neck.

"Now it's too late…"

"I have no intention of leaving. I told you so," she reminded him, her fingers curling into the back of his cape.

"Yes. But I couldn't believe that you would… that you would truly want to… for the rest of your life…" His voice disappeared before he could finish but his hold remained, keeping her close despite the unceasing waves of shudders running through his body.

"I do," she breathed against his neck. "I do."

His uneven gasps for air echoed in her ears as they continued to stand unmoving and she closed her eyes, trying to escape the various thoughts and worries that flooded her mind.

Around them all was silent.

 _Married._

Had she ever wondered what his reaction would be still she couldn't have expected this. He was supposed to be happy, elated, relieved – yet whatever he felt right now was anything but these emotions. What _she_ felt was even more difficult to define. Frankly, she barely remembered anything from the ceremony so caught up she had been in the idea that it was indeed happening, and what she was supposed to feel during her wedding. Part of what she had felt was dread and worry; fear of a future of which she only had vague suspicions and where her decisions would be of more serious matters that how best to spend her free time and also had more severe consequences – especially considering that she had been about to be married to one of the most wanted criminals of the city. The larger part of her, however, had been overjoyed that she was becoming the wife of the man she had loved for so long, someone who cherished her above anything else, and she thought that his joy over the long-awaited nuptials could be even greater.

It was hardly joy that made him cling to her with a grip that hadn't ceased ever since he initiated it.

After a while the cold began to seep into her clothes, presenting a strange contrast to the warmth that spread from his hold. The slow clatter of hooves cut into the night – a late carriage, passing in a safe distance from their hiding place, but she started nonetheless. She was rarely, if ever, out in the city at this hour.

The sound faded and finally disappeared, leaving the two of them shrouded in silence.

Wind picked up and swept in a thin layer of snow into the narrow passage where they stood.

The heaving of his chest slowly ebbed away, and after a while her tears began to run dry as well. At some point his hands let go of the material of her cape and spread out on her back in a protective gesture while warm waves of his breath caressed the back of her neck.

"Thank you," he said at last, his voice barely a whisper. "For going through with your promise."

"I thought you knew that I meant it," she replied, tightening her hold on him briefly.

"I did. But it had been before you saw for yourself what staying with me would impose on you."

"I've already known that I'd have to deal with the authorities at some point. I just didn't think it'll be so soon."

His shoulders sagged beneath her hands then he pulled back from her, but she caught his hand before he could take it away as well. "It is… permanent," he blurted out uneasily, shifting on his feet. "They'll always be looking for me."

"It'll be easier," she offered, but inwardly she tried to ignore the squeeze around her stomach. Surely it would lessen with time. "Once I get used to it."

A cold gust of wind swept over them and she reached up with her free hand to wipe her now itching cheeks. He had just turned back as she lifted her eyes once more, his free hand still hovering in the air but the mask was already back in its place.

Their eyes met, but his gaze left hers almost immediately.

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to deal with a burden like this," he said, attempting to free his hand from her hold. She didn't let him and he didn't try again.

"You cannot protect me from everything," she reminded him softly.

"No. But most of the threats that you'll have to face will befall you because of me." This time his hand slipped from her hold, and he also took a step back. "What kind of a husband does that make me?"

"A husband who will not surprise me with shameful details about his past ten years into our marriage."

"You could have had someone who had no such details to hide at all," he remarked bitterly.

"Perhaps," she agreed. When his gaze immediately fell to the ground she stepped forward; he flinched but didn't back away. "Maybe one day I would have been proposed to by an honorable, distinguished gentleman. But even if I married him I would have always wondered what it might have been had I married you."

The cold breeze returned with a whistling swirl and she saw him shiver. "Even if it was someone… better than me?"

Her lips pulled into a sad smile. "I wouldn't have noticed. I love _you_. And I don't think that that could have ever been replaced by a love for anyone else, no matter how respectable that someone else might have been."

A warm wave of air fanned her cheeks as he let out a deep sigh – he seemed to want to say something but instead of words a faint tremor flitted across his lips; in the end his free hand reached up to cup her cheek, his hand unnaturally cold even on her chilled skin. He must have forgotten about his gloves in his haste.

She saw his eyes glisten only for a moment before they disappeared behind his closed lids and there was something breathed against her lips, too – thank you, perhaps – but after that she was only aware of the gentle brush of his lips against her own; the mask was in the way and it pressed against her face in all the wrong places but her heart swelled with affection at his kiss nonetheless.

It lasted no longer than a few seconds yet both of them were panting heavily when it ended.

"I love you, Christine," he gasped. "More than anything."

"I know. And I love you, too."

Leaning forward he repeated the kiss, his lips ghosting over hers before he shyly probed for more.

He lingered close to her face even after they broke apart, and another few moments passed until he pulled back from her completely. His eyes remained riveted to the ground, though.

"I also love when you kiss me," she assured him, and she was promptly granted another one.

This time he didn't pull back from her but instead rested his forehead against hers. "I wasn't supposed to have this," he whispered, the words caressing her face with warm waves of air.

"To have what?"

From the corner of her eyes she saw him making a vague gesture around the two of them. "This. Everything." She rather felt it than heard when he added, " _You._ "

Tears threatened to fall once more at his confession but at the same time a bizarre suspicion started in the back of her mind, impossible to believe at first – and unnerving when it gained certainty. "You more than deserve to be happy," she told him, reaching up to cover the unmasked side of his face.

"After all that I've done..." He closed his eyes briefly. "Especially to you."

"I've already forgiven you."

His head bowed deeply and she could barely make out his next words. "I shouldn't be forgiven."

Air trembled on its way out of her lungs and she had to swallow in an attempt to reclaim her failing voice. "Would you rather suffer for it for the rest of your life?"

"No. I very much prefer you being here." One of his hands came up to cover hers resting on his face. "It would be well deserved, though."

"I won't be less happy just because you are, too," she assured him, and he swept his thumb across the back of her hand in return.

"It'll take some time until I get used to that," he replied, and this time it was her who leaned up to kiss him.

"I'll be here to remind you every day," she promised.

For a while neither of them said another word.

Somewhere a church bell tolled but she lost count midway through the beats.

Far in the distance a door opened and after a short, muffled conversation a young woman was admitted to the house – a housemaid returning from her day off, probably.

Whatever time it was, it was late.

"We should leave," he suggested before she could voice a similar statement.

"Yes," she agreed, drawing back from him reluctantly.

The streets were now silent once more and it appeared that not a single soul was anywhere around the two of them. Still, the intimidating presence of the patrolling gendarmes was fresh in her memory. "Do you think this man won't feel the need to… share with someone what happened tonight?" She asked him.

"I certainly hope he's smarter than that," he replied, reaching into his cape to retrieve his missing gloves.

"Don't you think he'd try to gain some kind of… reward? My name must have been all around in the papers."

"Surely he will keep quiet on the matter," he answered with a hint in his voice.

 _Why would you be so certain…_ "How much did you give him?" She asked suspiciously.

"Just enough, it seems," came his answer, his thumb brushing the ring on her finger lightly.

She squeezed his hand gently in return, but could help insisting, "I'm really curious."

"A couple of thousand francs; probably a few years of earnings of his." _Which was undoubtedly more than the money authorities could ever offer him…_ She was still trying to draw a full breath when he added, "And then some more before we left, just for good measure."

"So that was why he was so jovial!"

"Most probably," he concluded, before reluctantly letting go of her hand to put on the gloves while she did the same.

Instead of leaving, however, he stood unmoving, and she didn't want to be the one who set to motion first.

"Thank you for convincing him about the mask," he blurted out uneasily after a long silence. "I didn't expect you to, though. You have done quite enough by not leaving beforehand."

Her heart climbed to her throat but now that the thought had started to form it was impossible to hold the question back. "Is this why you were so reserved? Before. Fearing I would change my mind?"

"No." He fell silent and for a while she thought he wouldn't continue at all. "It was because I didn't want to get used to having you here if you, indeed, left before the wedding."

"You kissed me before the ceremony…" She trailed off; air escaping her lungs as understanding dawned on her. "You thought I wouldn't return…"

"I'm sorry. I was so close to having it all but it never happened before and…" He stopped without finishing the sentence.

"There was nothing I could have convinced you with, was there?"

He shook his head. "In fact, I'm still amazed that I haven't woken up yet."

"Because this is real," she told him, rising to her toes to press a kiss to his lips.

"It very much feels like so," he admitted with an uncertain smile when she pulled back.

Wind whistled past the two of them and she shivered once more. "The cold feels real, too," she noted, burrowing closer to him but instead of hugging her tighter he pulled back from her altogether.

"Here," he said, reaching up to unclasp his cape, but she stopped him before he could take it off.

"We can just leave," she suggested. "And go back to the opera house."

Their eyes met and the involuntary allusion hidden in her words quickly turned the innocent look into something a lot more suggestive. The tentative excitement she had felt in the morning now returned with a pleasant tingle, and though it was still unfamiliar and slightly startling she was now less and less concerned about how to feel about it. One of his hands reached out to take hers and her fingers closed around his with the same eagerness that his eyes conveyed.

In the end his steps were not at all slower on their way back than they were on their arrival.

Now, however, his rush was not rooted in doubts but in certainty.


End file.
